Bloodstream
by Luridel
Summary: The life and times of Lyrian of Candlekeep and her companions.


Traditional and obligatory disclaimer. These people aren't mine, for the most part. Lyrian is mine. Most others are Bioware's, with the exceptions of Gavin, who is Berelinde's, Angelo, who is Bioware's and Incanto's/Sister Vigilante's, and Xan, who is Bioware's and Kulyok's. Thanks go to those three for their excellent modding work, which has inspired me to actually post some of my writing publicly (for once), and more thanks to the Gibberlings Three and Pocket Plane Group, both wonderful modding communities.

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Bloodstream

One - Victory

"A river of tainted blood doth not cleanse."

_This is the end,_ she thought. _This is it. My brother's dead. We win._

The floor was strewn with bodies. The battle had been fought with no regard for the building, and at the end of it all, only Lyrian was left standing amidst the scorched walls and burned corpses. Varscona's hilt was cold in her hand, and blood dripped along the blade.

Before her eyes, her brother's form was beginning to crumble. She watched, dull-eyed, as his skin and his bones turned to dust. Soon she was looking at an empty shell of armor adorned by hideous spikes, and a fallen greatsword. With a sharp gesture, Lyrian flicked blood aside from Varscona's blade and sheathed it, then reached down and hauled Sarevok's sword upright with both hands. It was heavier than she had expected, but not so heavy that she couldn't manage. Pain bit at her legs and her left wing, and for a moment she swayed, leaning on the weapon to keep herself upright. Her vision threatened to betray her. It had been a difficult battle, and one not without its consequences.

The weary avariel turned to descend the steps of the dais, putting a glove to her forehead and dragging Sarevok's greatsword along with little regard for the weapon. The fingers of her glove came away bloody, though she didn't notice. Lying at the bottom of the steps were two bodies. One was the half-ogre, Tazok, quite dead. There was no doubt about it. His face was charred beyond recognition. She wouldn't have been able to associate this body with the proud, ruthless half-ogre she had met leading the bandits. The other body was Gavin, lying very still. She dropped to one knee beside him. The brown-haired cleric had lasted longer than most of her friends had during the battle, she remembered. With great relief, she realized he was still breathing. She held a hand above his midsection, and closed her eyes.

The healing came more naturally to her every time she let herself use it. Eyes tightly shut, Lyrian felt warmth stream through her fingers. She kept the channel open for longer than she had ever dared. Somewhere, she could hear a man laughing, though the sound seemed far-away. _Father's happy_, she thought with some disgust. Then she heard another sound, and her eyes snapped open. Gavin was stirring.

"Shh... do not move." Her voice was hoarse, her throat dry. She licked her lips. "I will fetch help."

The rush of the battle had left her. Now Lyrian felt dull, exhausted. Her bones ached more than they ever had after a day's worth of traveling and battles. She had to move on. Here was Imoen, curled up next to one of the shattered columns. Magic had scorched the ground around her; now blood soaked it, and faint sparkles floated through the air. Imoen was clutching her leg, and as Lyrian came closer she could hear her moaning faintly. She was still very much alive, and she jerked half-upright to stare at her friend. "We won, Lyric?"

"Y... yes." Lyrian could barely speak. She felt as if she would begin to dissolve into dust, just as Sarevok had only a few moments ago.

Imoen had enough energy remaining to point across the room with a quick, pained smile. "Got him. See?" Lyrian followed her friend's gaze to the opposite end of the hall, where she could see a crumpled and charred heap dressed in what had presumably been robes. The mage - Semaj, his name had been - was more burned ash than human at this point. She nodded.

"Hang... on. Just... wait for me." Her brother's greatsword still in hand, Lyrian passed through the hall. She paused at Shar-Teel's corpse. It seemed mostly intact; it was likely that she could yet be raised. They certainly had coin enough. She moved on, her white wings trailing through blood. She barely had the energy to lift them. All she had to do was make it back to the surface of the city, where she could get help for her friends. It was Xan she found next, and she would have missed him entirely if not for his Moonblade's faint glow. His breathing was irregular, but he didn't seem to be dead quite yet. She smiled weakly at her unconscious friend, and spoke to the Moonblade. "Keep him safe." Not expecting much of an answer, she headed for the door. Her lover Coran was nowhere in sight, although the last of her opponents, Angelo, lay in a heap by the exit. She hadn't remembered seeing the elf during the battle, but thought little of it - he was a stealthy sort, and it had been more than a little chaotic.

Lyrian was pushing open the door, which had apparently swung shut behind them during the battle, when she felt something brush her ankle. She jumped, startled, and looked down at Angelo. Jerking her foot out of his reach, she grasped the hilt of her newly-acquired weapon with both hands and raised the blade.

He spoke. His voice was faint; the avariel heard him only barely. "Lady..."

She froze, her hands shaking. She remembered this man smiling as he sentenced her and her friends to death, looking right at her and smiling. Lyrian met his gaze. He wasn't smiling now. For a moment, even she wasn't sure what she was about to do.

_Father is laughing at me._

Wordlessly, she flung Sarevok's blade aside. She didn't realize she'd thrown it with such force, but it slid across the stone floor with ease, passing the skull in the center and nearly reaching Gavin. A katana lay on the ground beside Angelo. She picked it up, her fingers closing tightly around the hilt. Placing her other hand firmly against the door, she shoved it open and broke into a run. As she fled through the Undercity, the thought occurred to her that she shouldn't have left an opponent still alive in a room full of her injured friends. Angelo was a spellcaster, she had seen. Still, he had looked so thoroughly defeated. Hoping she wouldn't regret her decision, she ran back through the crumbling walls. Coran was nowhere to be found, and Lyrian realized as she passed the body of Winski Perorate that she hadn't seen the elf in the maze under the Thieves' Guild, either. A more startling realization was that she didn't care. _I suppose he has left me for good. I've been expecting it for a while now._ She ran on.

_I just need to make it to the surface. Then I can get help._ It couldn't be that far. She was sure she could make it.


End file.
